


Second In Command

by LoveDrift



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 17:05:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2436317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveDrift/pseuds/LoveDrift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deadlock and Starscream have a chat after a particularly rough night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second In Command

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off of a role play with my very best friend. I will probably write more, but I'm not sure yet...we will see! I will post warnings as needed. Right now there is only mentions of bad things. lol I hope you all like! I like these two together for some reason and it also leaves room for some fun with the Trine! :D

Deadlock staggers and limps, leaking and sparking, doing his best to stay upright, as he makes his way through the halls to the roof of the Decepticon base. He snarls and glares nastily at each mech he passes, making sure to bear his energon coated denta; sometimes spitting a wad of his energon at someone unlucky enough to cross his path. He keeps his broken right arm tucked tight to his chassis, covering his dislocated and fractured, leaking and sparking, exposed hip. Thanks to Turmoil he has a slag load of vicious, nasty injuries all over him. Fraggin’ pit-spawned slaggin’ gear stick. Deadlock snorts and smirks. Was worth it though. Fraggin’ pit was it worth it! Deadlock grins nastily as he brings up the recent memory file of Turmoil’s face when he bit off the tip of Turmoil’s glossa. There will be payback for sure, but in the meantime, Deadlock is going to enjoy his small victory. Deadlock will not be raped tonight! Ha! Victory! If only he had a bottle of nightmare fuel and maybe some decent company. He snorts. Yeah right…no such thing here. 

Deadlock groans and limps through the automatically opening door onto the roof. Perfect…no one here. He intakes deep, pulling in the crisp night air of whatever blasted planet they’re on this time and sits down with his back against the side of some vent. That’s better. Frag he hurts. His helm knocks back against the vent with a thunk as he tries to summon up the strength to find his field medical kit in his subspace. 

“Frag it…can wait…” Probably don’t have that much slag left in it anyway. Multiple uses and all that. Thank you so much, Turmoil, ya fragger. One of these days—if he believed in anything he’d swear on it—one of these fraggin’ days Turmoil will get his. And oh how Deadlock would looooove to be the one to give it to him. If he had only known that joining up with the Decepticons would mean free use of his valve and frame to Megatron, Turmoil, and whoever else the two of them saw fit to choose, he’d NEVER have joined. Drift’s past clients have nothing on Turmoil and Megatron. Nothing at all.

“Don’t think I’ve ever been this miserable…or h-hurt…” Drift’s intakes hitch, tears welling up in his crimson/orange optics. “Fraggin’ weak, Drift! That’s not who you are anymore! Y-You’re D-Deadlock! You do NOT cry! Only pathetic slaggin’ weaklings cry! And you’re n-none of those! You’re not D-Drift. You are Deadlock! You are—“

“Allowed to cry when you are hurt,”

Deadlock snaps his helm around and draws his gun in one smooth, deadly motion, aiming it at whatever exhaust sucking idiot dared to intrude on his convalescence. “SHUT UP! I’ll k-kill you!”

“By all means, Deadlock. Pull the trigger and put me out of my infinite misery,” The mech slowly limps out of the shadows, hands up in a placating gesture.

“S-Starscream?!” Deadlock slowly lowers his gun, unsure if he can trust the air commander.

“In the broken and dented plating,” Starscream’s wings, well, one of his wings, twitches, the other just hangs loosely, the tip almost scraping the decking of the roof. “May I sit with you? I come bearing gifts,” 

Deadlock raises an optic ridge along with his gun as Starscream reaches in his subspace.

“Relax. Please. It is only a bottle of Vosnian high grade,”

The gun lowers and disappears, Deadlock tipping his helm. “Come on then,”

Starscream smirks and hobbles over then gracefully lowers himself beside Deadlock. “Thank you, Deadlock.” Starscream looks over Turmoil’s second in command and snorts. Damn he’s in bad shape. “What the slag happened to you?”

“Turmoil,” Deadlock spits out, as he in turn looks over Megatron’s second in command. He’s fraggin’ slagged up pretty bad too, “You?”

“Megatron,” Starscream removes the stopper from the bottle and takes a long drink before handing it to Deadlock.

The speedster grunts and nods, taking a long drink himself. He hands the bottle back to Starscream, who looks about ready to burst into a fit of hysterical laughter as he takes the bottle. Deadlock can’t help the tug at the corners of his mouth as he too finds their situation quite amusing. The next thing he knows, both of them are helplessly laughing and leaning against each other.


End file.
